


Dreams

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Mind Manipulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: Steve Rogers finds himself Bewitched.





	Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wipvanwrinkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wipvanwrinkle/gifts).



The floor of the hall smelled of fresh polish, barely obscuring the scent of sweat, gun oil, and tobacco.  What had been a collection of bunks and rifle racks was now clean, bright.  It was almost if this place hadn’t been pressed into service as a barracks.   A band was playing, _Is You Is or Is You Ain’t,_ with someone doing a pitch-perfect imitation of Bing Crosby.  A banner on the wall opposite the main entrance read VICTORY.

The base had cleaned up nicely.

Hydra was beaten.  And barely had they finished the debrief on that then word came down that the Russians had reached Berlin.  There was talk of the Pacific, but for now, everyone in the Strategic Science Reserve were celebrating.  For now, the war was over.

And he was here to have that dance.

Where was she?  He looked side to side, intensely trying to find her.  Colonel Philips and Howard Stark were sharing a bottle of scotch—Steve was surprised that the Colonel was even capable of smiling.  The Howling Commandos were posing for a photograph, Bucky in the center.   And there she was… he took a few long strides, nearly bumping into Peggy Carter.  Apologizing, and sharing a cordial handshake, he moved on, to her, the woman he owed that dance to.

Wanda.

That was when Steve Rogers woke up.

* * *

He ran the grounds of the mansion, feet pounding against asphalt as he pushed himself to go further.  He had no idea how long he had been at it—he hadn’t checked the clock when he woke up.  The sweat beading his brow, the heart pounding in his chest, that told him he was at it a while—he never got winded easily anymore.

Not since that day in Brooklyn.

Still, he kept at it, kept running, even after several laps around the expansive premises.  He needed to clear his head.

The dream had unsettled him.  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  He’d had the dream with Peggy ever since waking up, over a half century too late.  Maybe he’d had it while in the ice.  But the dreams with Wanda were new, and increasingly obtrusive.  They weren’t all that victory party for World War II he never managed to attend.  Some were far more _visceral_.

He always woke up in a cold sweat with a hardon.

He tried dissecting the dream as he ran along.  Could it be that he was finally moving on, that he realized that he was too late with Peggy, but now he had a chance this time?  Then why Wanda Maximoff?  She was… complicated.  She had helped them with Ultron, then had just vanished, but he couldn’t get her out of his head.  He hadn’t thought about Widow, or Sharon, or Agent Hill like he had with Wanda… why?

Because she was the one.

He started to slow as he hit the curve that would lead to the Mansion’s front door.  He would have to talk with her, try to sort out if she felt the same way towards him.  Nobody could find her.  A random war orphan-turned-enhanced was very, very hard to find, there was no credit trail to follow.  Wanda Maximoff had fallen off of the face of the earth, ever since Ultron, her brother’s death.

Until she hadn’t.  There were… run ins.  Sightings while they were out on missions.  She watched sometimes, helped others, but kept her distance, disappeared just as quickly as she appeared.  And no one could find her.

But he was going to try.  For some reason he felt it in his bones that he could. 

He was fascinated. 

* * *

He barely realized he was on a flight when he woke up.  Sitting in an uncomfortable airline seat, he had to pause to not react, then looked to the side, out the window at the blue of the Atlantic, coasting by thousands of feet below.  The question of Wanda Maximoff was becoming more and more pressing as time went on.  She was an exceptionally powerful person, had aided Ultron in countless crimes before turning on him and aiding the Avengers in stopping him.  Something needed to be done about her.

While Nat and Tony discussed possible leads, he kept quiet.  Someone suggested that Thor might be able to find her—Viking space god looking for a witch?  He had a hunch, but kept it to himself.  He tried to relax, feeling glad he decided to leave his phone back home—they’d probably be calling nonstop.

He rehearsed lines in his head, trying to think of a way to deal with Wanda.  Would it be inappropriate to get involved?  He had to force himself to consider what he could do if she was not interested—it seemed like an impossibility really.  That confidence was unlike him—charging headlong at alien or robot armies, no problem.  But in his limited experience, talking with women?  That was terrifying.

Things were changing.  That included him, he supposed. 

* * *

He had a jacket wrapped tightly around him as he walked.  He wasn’t quite sure which side of the Sokovian-Latverian border he was on anymore, having hitchhiked his way through Europe to here, before starting a hike.  He kept following the neglected road, observing unreadable signs until he turned, sliding down an embankment, then walking on dead leaves, into the woods.  Automatically, paying no heed really, as he kept up the march to the line of trees, and then deeper.  He ducked and wove between the branches, dodging until he found her.

She was in a clearing, sitting cross legged, eyes closed.  In the darkness, he was aware of that dim red glow.  She looked so serene, so lovely.  “Wanda?”

Her eyes snapped open but, the look she gave him was not at all surprised.  With a disarming smile, she nodded, and said, lyrically “Captain.”

“Call me Steve”.  Captain America was the name when they were on the job.  Right now, he was just out for an early morning stroll.  A very early morning stroll.  And she was… “And what are you doing out here?”

“Just trying to clear my head, I guess.” She shrugged.  Steve had no clue how her powers worked, really.  She could make the impossible possible moreso than even any of the other impossibilities he routinely dealt with.  But he supposed her meditating made sense.  “It’s peaceful here, Steve.”

“Yeah.”  He nodded, trying to ignore the feeling slicing through him when she said his name.  He was here for a reason after all.  “Look, Wanda… there’s something I… I’ve been thinking, and I don’t know what it is… throughout all of this, I mean, we’ve lost people… and you can do… you have done a lot of good and…”

He continued to stumble over his words, awkwardness getting in the way of his ability to make sense, until he was silenced when she stood up, approaching him.  She leaned in close.  “I know.”

“I…” He was relieved but still at a complete loss.  His ramble this time was cut off when she pressed her lips against his.  The feeling was almost electric, running up and down his spine, making his heart pound like the marathon he’d just run couldn’t.  This was wondeful.

Something was wrong.  He pulled away suddenly.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Wanda asked, obviously concerned.

“Nothing.”  Steve replied, thinking.  Why was he so uneasy.  He had found her… off the path.  After going halfway around the world and taking steps to make sure nobody found her.  After having dreams of her.  He inhaled sharply.  Back, before she helped with Ultron, in a derelict tanker. 

She had shown she was quite capable of getting in people’s heads.

“I can explain.” Wanda said, standing up, hands raised.  She looked so hurt, he burned with the desire to say something to make her feel better… and then he wondered if that’s what he wanted of if it was what she wanted.  “Look, everything I’ve said to you is true.  Steve, I…”

He turned around.  “We’ll talk later.”

Later.  Much later.  He needed to get away, hopefully clear his head for real, try to sort out what of his thoughts were his own, and which were Wanda Maximoff’s.  It would take some doing.  But he’d figure it out and then and only then could they discuss this.

“Steve!”  It wasn’t a plea, wasn’t a cry. 

It was a demand.

He turned around, and saw that her face had hardened, her eyes narrowed.  She raised her hands.  Steve opened his mouth to tell her that it was nothing personal, that they just barely knew one another, but something tightened around his throat, cutting off the words.  In the split second it took to register _that_ , he was launched off his feet, he braced for a landing as best he could, but it never came.  He was just held there.

He at her, hands held in front of her, left held open, right half-closed.  He could see the red.  He could breathe, whatever she was doing wasn’t choking him, but he couldn’t say a word.  His legs kicked uselessly against thin air, until with a flick of her wrist they were pinned together, held in a crimson mist.  He did his best to remain calm as she sauntered over to him.  He’d get an opportunity if he kept a cool head, and then… what was he going to do?  She wasn’t letting him speak, so he couldn’t talk her down.  If he got the opportunity, one good punch would probably… he didn’t want it to come to that.

Or she didn’t want him to want it to come to that.

“I… I didn’t mean for things to go this fast… I was trying to be more careful.” Wanda said, sounding desperate even as she looked him up and down like a hungry lioness.  She crossed over to where he was.  “I can make _everything_ better.”

When she reached him, she pressed a hand against his shirt, glowing red.  Immediately the fabric unwove itself, thread struggling to get away from thread before glowing and disappearing before his eyes.  Her hand against his bare chest was warm, warmer than it should’ve been, but not unpleasant, especially given the morning chill.  It felt nice… a thought he forced from his mind as the hand drifted south.  His sweatpants ended in the same shape as his shirt, the fabric tearing itself apart from the waistband downward.

His eyes widened when she swung a leg over him and lifted her self up, held aloft on top of his floating frame.  The fabric of her pants against his bare skin, the manic gleam in her eyes, the scent of wildflowers, his heart was pounding for a hundred different reasons.

“I’ve been in your head, Steve.”  She whispered, running her hand down the side of his face.  “I’ve been in it and I know you want this.”

He shook his head, and the grip around him tightened, enough to make him cry out.  Nails dug into his cheek and he glared up at her, the frown on her face. 

“I can _make_ it happen, Steve.”  She chided, angrily.  Then she took a deep breath, her expression softened, and she added.  “I don’t want to force the issue…”

Yeah, he really felt like he had a ton of choices here.  Wanda pressed herself against him, muttering in a language he assumed was Sokovian, fingers leaving a pleasantly burning trail where they touched.  Eventually, she pushed herself off of him and took several steps away.

He tried to struggle his way out, accomplishing nothing as she shook her coat off her shoulders, not facing him. He tried and failed to not stare as, swaying her hips, she pulled her pants down and stepped out of them, but his eyes were glued to her body.  She wheeled around, raising her hand in a come-hither gesture, leaving a glowing red trail in the air.  She reached behind her, undoing her corset fumbling with it a little.

He couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink, as she stripped until she was as nude as he was, writhing in the dark clearing.  Paleness and a red glow against the blackness.  When she was as nude as he was, she looked at him.  Again she approached, running a hand down his body.  He tensed as she curled fingers around his cock.  “I think certain parts of you are more honest with what they want.”

She knelt as he felt himself rotate until he was upright, toes almost reaching the ground.  She took him in her mouth, lighting every nerve on fire as her tongue slid against the underside of his cock.  She slowly slid all the way down, gripping his hips tightly as she pressed forward, moaning against his flesh.  She pulled back a bit to inhale, then back down.  Back and forth, back and forth, until she finally had all of him in her mouth.  She pulled all the way back, taking a few deep breaths before looking up at him with a grin.

Then she got back to work.  He had no frame of reference for it, but she was good.  More than that, he felt the moan rise in his throat, only to be trapped along with all the other sounds he had wanted to make tonight.  Her head bobbed back and forth, and her tongue was doing _something_ , and every muscle he had was tense and on edge as she kept at it.

The tension rose and rose inside him, to the point he felt like he’d burst, and then some more.  He began trying to rock his hips against her to get it over with, the damned tension unbearable.  She pinched his ass and _giggled_ with his cock in her mouth and he wanted to scream.  He erupted inside her suddenly, hard.  She continued to suck him and play with her tongue as he filled her.

When he was finished and starting to go soft, Wanda pulled her head back, wiping her chin and swallowing.  No longer occupied, her mouth got back to the speeches.  “Don’t even _pretend_ you didn’t enjoy that, Steve.”

He started at her disbelievingly. 

“I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.  It must’ve been a while for you… unless…”  She ran her tongue against her teeth and swallowed again.   Then she stood up and whispered conspiratorially into his ear “… was this your first time with someone’s lips wrapped around you, Steve?”

“Yes.” The word was out almost automatically.  His eyes widened and a grin crept across her face.  He tried to yell, only for nothing to come out.  He glared at her.

“Will this be your first time inside someone?”  Wanda asked, standing up. 

“Yes.”  Again, he couldn’t say anything more than that.  His eyes narrowed.  He hadn’t a lot of experience—any experience, but he knew that he was spent.  They’d be waiting a while… maybe someone would come before he was ready to go again.

Red swirled around her hand as she reached out, trailing fingers down his chest, then belly, then curling them around his cock.  And he was rock hard again.  Like magic.  Smiling wickedly, she asked “How would you like to take me, darling?”

He found himself nearly cumming when she said ‘darling’.  His jaw worked as he tried to think of a response.  He was so new to this, and what would feel the best and how the Hell could be be thinking of that when he should have been thinking of escape?

She smiled, said comfortingly “I know, decisions, decisions?  Hm…”

She took a few steps away and laid down on the ground faceup.  She propped herself up on her elbows, spread her legs apart, and looked at him.  “Whenever you’re ready, dear.”

His feet were on the ground, arms at his side.  He took a deep breath as he looked at her.  He could make a break for it, had to get away and… He was approaching her, kneeling down between her legs.  Her tongue against his was intoxicating.  The feel of her ankles locking together behind him, her arms around his neck, her against him.  It was incredible.

Then he entered her.

The night was too short as he drove into her.  What he lacked in experience he made up for in stamina.  And whatever it was, he knew exactly what to do, what made her feel good.  She hissed and sighed and moaned appreciatively.  Dragging nails against his skin, rocking against him.  Sense returned, he realized he could run, before that thought left him just as quickly as it entered his thoughts.

They moaned and groaned and he felt her get close.  He came when she did, caught her breath when she stopped panting.  He rolled onto his back and let her ride him, and it felt just as wonderful as it was when he was on top.

The night was too short.

Until once, when he paused too long, when he realized that things weren’t right, when she narrowed her eyes in annoyance, and things disappeared in a haze of red.

* * *

He sat bolt upright, eyes wide.  He looked himself over, for nail scratches, dirt, whatever.  He couldn’t say why, only that he felt he had to look.  That he found nothing was surprisingly not comforting.

“What’s wrong, Steve?”  She mumbled, sitting up next to him in bed.  His panic dissipated as she slid an arm over his shoulder, pressed her lips against the side of his neck.  “Did you have another bad dream?”

He turned his head and looked at her, seeing her worry.  “Yeah.  Just that.  A bad dream.”

Wanda didn’t like it when he had bad dreams.  He didn’t deserve them, she’d say.  He’d been having them, but couldn’t think of the details when he woke up.  But as much as they screwed him up, she could always make things better. 

She got out of bed, and he stared at that set of red lingerie she had on.  As she stood in the doorway, she turned and gave a smile.  “I’ll make us some breakfast.  We can talk, maybe I can..”

She trialed off.  He returned her smile.  “You already have, Wanda.”

Her smile widened.  He got out of bed and followed her to the kitchen—he’d already felt better, and although he wouldn’t object, he had something other than breakfast on his mind.  As she set the eggs on the countertop, he curled his arms around her and pulled her tight.  Her fingers interlaced with his, and she leaned in as he kissed her neck.  They stayed their, silent except for Wanda humming.

_Is you is, or is you ain’t my baby…_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, requestor! I hope you enjoyed this. It was a fun fic to write; hopefully it was as fun for you to read.


End file.
